


Waves Know Shores

by enefasparable



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Iris and The Flash, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, well actually it's Porn W(ith a little) Plot tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enefasparable/pseuds/enefasparable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Iris met The Flash, there was blood all around them.</p>
<p>It covered them both in harsh, crimson tones, dripped from the place where she cradled his head against her, settled into the lines traversing her palm, and darkened a patch of carpet covered in moonlight.  </p>
<p>This savior - the city’s fiercest metahuman - was dying. And in her living room, no less. </p>
<p>--</p>
<p>An Alternate Universe Porn W(ith a little) Plot smutfic that features a series of clandestine meetings between Iris and The Flash, each making it more difficult for him to leave without revealing who he <i>really</i> is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waves Know Shores

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Couple things up front: in this story, Iris did **not** grow up with Barry, doesn't know who Barry Allen is, and Barry isn't a CSI at CCPD. It does, however, borrow from bits of canon (you'll get to see Iris jump out of that window and into Barry's arms again, for example! :))
> 
> The story's title is based on a song by James Blake called "Waves Know Shores"; I _highly_ suggest listening along while you read. :) All kudos and comments are VERY MUCH appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Iris met The Flash, there was blood all around them.

It covered them both in harsh, crimson tones, dripped from the place where she cradled his head against her, settled into the lines traversing her palm, and darkened a patch of carpet covered in moonlight.  

This savior - the city’s fiercest metahuman - was dying. And in her living room, no less.

“Please be okay. Please be okay,” she whispered while holding a soaked compress to his wound; her other hand clasped a cell with an emergency number dialed in.

Calling the police now would endanger them both; there was no way The Flash would want his identity revealed, and it would let Joe in on the fact that she’d been disobeying his orders and tailing the superhero anyway.

“Wake _up_ , Flash,” she whispered. “Because dying in my apartment? Not an option!”

She saw his eyes flutter in the dimness, a splotch of blood dotting the corner of his open mouth. Was he already gone? Her hand hovered shakily over it; his breathing was shallow, but warm. He was still there with her.

She held the compress until her hands ached, until her feet (which were tucked underneath her) lost feeling. She held it until the wound seemed to clot, until her own strength gave out and her eyes became heavy. Until the dark interior of her apartment faded to nothingness.

* * *

“Thank you.”

Iris opened her eyes; she must’ve dozed off hours ago. “You’re awake?” 

“Yeah.”

His words were rough, rasped; all too quickly, the weight of him was gone from her arms. Sparks of lightning danced around her, air hot with the heat of his movements. In seconds, he’d straightened her furniture, disposed of the lamp he broke when stumbling through her door, and cleared all the dried blood that once stained the carpet.

“How did you -- did you heal yourself?” Iris asked, standing.

Outside, Central City sprawled beneath a cloudless night. But in her apartment? The Flash appraised her from the opposite corner of the room, bathed in its shadow.

“Yes.”

His voice mimicked the rhythm of deep chords strung together across a vibration that disguised its true sound. Was he … _vibrating_ his vocal chords?

“So you’re … okay?”

She inched toward him uncertainly, driven by an odd need. A strange desire to feel him against her again, to make sure that he was really … well, _real_. It was still possible that all this was the product of some lucid coffee dream; that she’d wake up back at Central City Picture News, curled over her desk, a cup of stale joe still clutched between her fingers.

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he offered a curt nod. “Seems like I should be asking you that question,” he said.

“Me?” She raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t the one bleeding out from … whatever happened to you. From whatever some meta _did_ \--”

“But it wasn’t fair of me to stumble in here. I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

She half-smiled. “When the savior of Central City is about to die on your carpet, the choice becomes pretty obvious. You’ve saved this city more times than I can count, and that means something. It means everything, really.”

He ducked his head timidly. “Still, it puts you in a lot of danger. If the metahuman that attacked me finds out about you, then - ”

“They won’t.” Iris took more tentative steps toward him. “You were alone in that alley when I helped you.”

Alone and drenched in a fine sheen of sweat that mingled with blood from an open wound. Iris had been heading home after a long day at CCPN, a few grocery bags weighing down her every stride, when she heard him. Heavy, labored breaths punctured by the sounds of straining.

The sidewalks had been bare, practically deserted, and the streetlamps cast an eerie glow across the quiet city neighborhood. She knew better than to go running into danger, but something tugged at her, drew her toward that alley. After all, her apartment was only a block away; she could drop everything she owned and sprint for safety if things got dicey, but something told her she wouldn’t need to.

That’s when she saw him, dying, only steps away.

“No one followed us here.” Iris’ voice was firm. 

The silence ebbed on between them, tense seconds laden with all of the fears she had about him leaving. What were you supposed to say when you had a superhero in your place?

“I’m Iris, by the way. I’d ask you your name, but …” _but I have a feeling I know what you might say_. She chewed on her lip, emboldened by their encounter. “But I never was one to give up easily. So … what’s your name?”

He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. “I should go.”

“Go where?” Iris whispered. “You almost died tonight.”

His silence almost felt guilty, too heavy with the weight of her truth.

“Look, stay here tonight. I have extra blankets and pillows; you can sleep on the couch. And you can even do that thing people do where they leave without saying goodbye in the morning,” she said, softly. “You can trust me, Flash.”

She thought she saw a smile cross his face in the dimness, but he and it were gone before she could ask him another question, lighting whipping about the apartment, leaving darkness in its wake.

* * *

 

The second time Iris met the Flash, it was a complete and utter surprise. So much so that she almost dropped the glass of wine she was holding.

“Flash!” Amazement colored her voice.

Of course he’d rescued the glass before it could shatter and quickly cut the lights in her kitchen. He was then silhouetted by the light of a streetlamp shining through her window - just enough light to make out his gentle smirk, but not enough to see all of his face.

“Sorry to barge in again.”

Iris let out an exasperated laugh. “Yeah, that’s one word for it. What are you doing here?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh - I seem to have gotten myself into another scrape.”

She wasn’t sure what he was talking about at first, but it became clearer as he slowly extended his arm. In the half-light, she made out a deep, long scratch that tore its way from wrist to elbow; the leather of his suit had been split by the force of whatever cut him.

“How did you - what happened?!”

He shrugged innocently. “I guess I just have really, really, _really_ bad timing on my upswing.”

The exposed skin was an angry purple, spindly veins crawling along the gash.

Iris raised an eyebrow hesitantly. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? It’s a miracle you didn’t die the first time you came here. 

“All thanks to you” he said. “I heal fast, but that wound was deep. It should’ve killed me, but it didn’t. I owe you my life.”

The words were rough, rasped; it stirred something within her, something that hadn’t been roused in a _long_ time. But pain was laced within each syllable - he was putting on a good front, but his wound was obviously doing a number on him.

“I - I know I swore I wouldn’t put you in danger again, but I need your help.”

He grimaced in pain, caught the edge of her counter, and struggled to stay upright. Her breath stuttered as he almost lost his footing.

“What do you need me to do?” She asked urgently.

“Keep me awake,” he wheezed, doubled over. “Venom in the wound. It - _ah_ \- knocks you out, spreads to your heart while you’re sleeping. Keep me awake long enough for my body to heal itself.”

“Okay,” she said firmly, resolved to save him a second time. 

* * *

Keeping a tall superhero awake, when you’re struggling to support his body weight with your own, proved to be a lot more difficult than Iris thought it would. Best she could do was was loop her arm around his waist, hold him tightly against her, and force him to walk the length of her apartment. But the best part about that?

Getting to know him more intimately. 

“Cats or dogs?”

The Flash’s head drooped softly against her shoulder, his breath coming too slowly. He was drifting off again.

“Flash, remember, you have choose quickly. Cats or dogs?” She shook him a little.

“Dogs,” he whispered. Her shaking roused him further. “Definitely dogs.”

“Movies or TV.”

He shrugged against her, scrunched up his nose. “That’s tough.”

“Too bad,” she teased. “Come on, pick!”

“Movies.”

As they looped around her kitchen counter, he nudged her gently. “When do I get to ask you some of these?”

The warmth in his voice, coupled with the way that his body pressed tautly against her own, summoned chills down her spine.

“Go ahead.”

“Rain or sunshine?”

“Rain, for sure. But then followed by sunshine and a rainbow!”

He made a soft sound she couldn’t distinguish; a sound of approval, maybe? “Cooking or takeout? 

“See, you wouldn’t be asking that question if you stayed for dinner one night.” She smiled.

“My dad taught me how to put my foot in everything from chicken to steak. I mean, not to toot my own horn but uh,” her voice grew cocky, “ _toot toot._ ” 

He laughed. “Talk like that might just make me take you up on that offer.”

His voice betrayed him; beneath it, she felt something hovering. Something electric. Iris stole a glance at the side of his face between dark lashes; she’d been trying not to, but the thought of peering past the mask, revealing the man that hid beneath, was intoxicating.

“Who cooks? You or your partner?”

The laughter that escaped him was ragged, stretched by the oscillation in his voice, but warm. “Never said I was seeing anyone, but it’s interesting that you think that.”

“Really?” She smirked. “Tall, gallant superhero hottie who saves babies from burning buildings and stops dangerous metas on a daily basis? Yeah, where’d I ever get _that_ impression?”

“Well in between saving babies and stopping metas, I don’t have much time for girlfriends.”

Their pacing took them around the kitchen table, past the dim light spilling from her desk lamp, and toward the arm of her couch.

“Iris, I - I need a second,” he practically wheezed. His breaths were more labored, his jaw clenching and unclenching with every beat. But he towered over her there, in front of the couch, inches separating his leather from her night shirt. Her arm fell away from his back then, and when she brought her gaze toward his, she found only a blur meant to keep her from discovering his true identity.

“What about friends? You can’t be doing all this superheroing on your own.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. “Ms. West, are you trying to squeeze identifying information out of me?”

Her cheeks bloomed with heat. “You know my name? My last name, I mean.”

He paused for a beat, causing her heart to staccato, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah, I have Central City Picture News to thank for that.”

Iris couldn’t stop the smile that crept across her. “You’re _kidding_ me. You read my stuff?” He nodded, but her excitement was uncontainable. “No, I mean - you _actually_ read it? Like, from byline to witty closing paragraph?”

She caught the edge of a smile through his blurring. “All of it. As much as I can, anyway. You know, when I’m not saving babies and stopping metas.” His cocky wink was slow enough to catch through the disguise.

Even though his ragged, shallow breathing punctured the silence, their closeness consumed them. Her eyes trailed the lean muscles of his arms, crossed the broad expanse of his chest - she couldn’t be completely sure, but he seemed just as preoccupied with the curve of her shoulders, the soft slope of her exposed neck, the brown freckles dotting her chest in a near perfect dip that disappeared just beneath her nightshirt.

“So saving your life must’ve left a real impression on you,” she whispered thickly.

He swallowed, distracted. “I read you before that. I mean, I’ve had a CCPN subscription for a while - it wasn’t some creepy attempt to, you know, find you or anything. I’m not … like _that_ ,” he babbled. “And I do have people. Friends, I mean! Friends who help me with the superheroing. And stuff. So. You know. I’m pretty - pretty normal.”

She chewed her lip to stifle a snicker. “Are you always this flustered?”

He met her eyes then in the dark. She couldn’t see them, but she felt his gaze. “Only when I’m around you, apparently.”

The rawness in his voice was unhinged, tangled with something thick and unspoken. It caught her off guard, stirred an ache between her legs. She shook herself out of it.

“Momma’s boy or Dad’s kid? 

“What?”

“The game,” she whispered. “Were you closer with your mom or dad growing up?”

A long silence stretched between them, and for a moment Iris worried that she’d completely ruined things by stepping them out of the moment. When he did finally speak, his tone took on another tenor entirely. “My mother died when I was young. Murdered,” he said, matter-of-factly. “But I was very close with her.”

This time it was Iris’ turn to go silent, deep in thought. He’d revealed a portion of himself to her, and even though his face was still obscured by blurred motions, she felt like she could see him clearly. No disguises, no subterfuge.

“My mom’s gone, too.” Her voice was like polished steel in the darkness, heavy but with a glint that showed its hardened surface. “I only really remember one thing - her laugh.”

The Flash listened intently, wrapping himself around her again; standing was getting difficult.

“One time, I got into my mom’s makeup drawer in the bathroom - she kept in the bottom drawer, so reaching it was a piece of cake. I found this ruby red lipstick color; it looked like candy, it was so pretty. But somehow I knew it wasn’t for eating, thank God.” She laughed softly. “But I started - like, drawing on my face with it. I don’t even think I knew it was supposed to go on my lips. I just knew that it was my mom’s, it was beautiful, and I wanted to be beautiful, too. I smeared it _everywhere_. I think at one point I even drew on the floor with it? I don’t know how long I was in there before she found me, but when she did, she didn’t get mad. She didn’t scream or yell. She just - _laughed_. This sweet laugh I’ll never forget. And then she cleaned me up like I was the most precious thing in the world. And I remember feeling like - like _that’s_ what beauty was. To be loved by her.”

Words weren’t needed anymore; it felt like they were hearing one another without speaking, seeing without vision, opening themselves without even trying. His grip on her tightened slightly as he brought her around to face him; her heart was a jagged drumbeat.

For a moment, there was only them, the slant of moonlight pouring through the living room window, his face bringing its vibration to a full stop. Then, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I have memories like that about my mom, too.” He spoke with his real voice this time - undisguised by vibration, trailed his hands up her bare shoulders, left soft goosebumps in their wake. “Iris, very few people have seen me like this.” He took a steadying breath. “I haven’t wanted them to, for obvious reasons. But you - you’re different.”

“Why?” She asked, barely above a whisper.

“Because I don’t have to hide from you.”

“Flash,” she began. “I -”

But something shifted then; his breath came out in a harsh cry, and then he crumpled.

“Flash!” His body thumped to the floor, stiff as a board. Iris yelped in fear. “Flash, talk to me!”

His skin was clammy, cold. Had the poison already done it’s work? She’d done her best to keep him awake, but maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it could kill him anyway, awake or not. She cursed silently, warm tears threatening to spill, and shook him gently at first. But her force increased with every passing breath.

“Wake. UP!”

His eyes fluttered gently, showing signs of life. And then, a rough gasp tore its way from him - he heaved and coughed in her arms.

“Oh my god,” she practically screamed. “You scared me!”

He took a few moments to catch his breath. “I think - I think that was the last of it leaving my system.”

“You could’ve _warned_ me that collapsing was part of the process.” She laughed wetly.

“You caught on quick enough,” he chuckled, then pushed himself up, glancing at the wound that brought him there. His arm hadn’t completely healed, but its purple coloring had since faded completely. “You’ve saved me twice now.” He said, smiling. “How’s a guy ever supposed to pay you back for that kind of help?”

The night’s events had completely tired Iris out, and her voice showed it. “I know one way.”

He stood, backed away from her a little, ready to put distance between them.

“Stay,” she called after him. “For dinner.”

A beep sounded then, soft and almost inaudible. The Flash put his fingers to his ear, waited a beat, then activated a small sensor that brought the sound of another’s voice flooding through. Iris couldn’t make out their words, but judging by the way his jaw tensed, whatever threat brought him there was now beckoning him back. The transmission cut out abruptly, wiping away his cool candor.

“I can’t.” It sounded like it pained him to say the words, and Iris wasn’t sure whether it was his injury or something more.

“No matter how much you want to?” She asked, hesitant. “Flash, come _on_. You’ve gotta eat, right?”

He appraised her from the shadows, too silent, too heavy. Iris chewed her lip; suddenly, she felt too exposed, too open. Like they’d been teetering on the edge of something that thrilled and terrified them all at once. Coaxing him to stay wasn’t getting her anywhere. And the growing headache behind her eyes, the tenseness in her shoulders, all of it - demanded some much needed alone time to process everything.

“Tell you what - the _next_ time you stop by, come for dinner. And maybe do it _before_ getting into a fight to the death with some meta,” she teased.

“Iris, I -  … that might not be the best idea. I have powerful enemies, people who want to hurt those closest to me. And every time I come here, I put you in more danger.”

“I’m a big girl, Flash. Daughter of an amazingly talented cop, so I know how to handle myself.”

A siren sounded outside, pulling them both from the moment.

“Take care of yourself, Iris.”

That was the last thing she heard before hot lightning warmed the air, sparks dazzling like stars before fading into the black quiet of her solitude.

* * *

Iris West crouched against a backdrop made of plaster and unfinished scaffolding; the former rustled with a strong, incoming breeze that wafted through the drafty, unfinished building.

Several rooms opposite her, Benjamin Caston and Ryan Moon, two of Central City’s wealthiest real estate developers, sat over a squat table with documents spread about, cigarettes in hand. The papers were embossed with an emblem for _Baldwin Tower_ , and they were littered with names -- _Santiago Mendez, Tiffany Jordan, Donna Fremont,_ and many others; all were tenants in a series of adjacent properties, ones slated to become a part of the Baldwin Tower Expansion Project. They flipped through the documents casually, preparing to serve illegal eviction notices to every single name on that list.

“We should finalize layouts for the luxury condos,” Ryan said, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the floor. “We could easily get double the rate for every property.”

“Actually, more like _triple_ that.” Benjamin passed him another set of projections. “And we can increase our profits by cutting corners during construction. As long as it _looks_ pretty, people’ll pay almost anything for them.”

Their laughter, combined with the smoke wafting from their cigarettes, turned Iris’ stomach. She clenched her fists, gritted her teeth against the feeling.

_Just a little longer._

Just a little longer and she’d have everything necessary to nail them for their crimes. She checked her phone battery; it was still around 65%, the recording application going strong and picking up their entire conversation for use in her exposé. 

“Now, what’re we going to do about the tenants attempting to sue for wrongful eviction?” Benjamin asked. “They could cause us problems down the line.”

Ryan shook his head. “The Flash is keeping headlines full of metahuman attacks and heroic deeds. Nobody’s paying attention to their suit, and we’ll bury them with legal fees before it ever reaches a verdict. 

Mention of the Flash jarred Iris momentarily. Four weeks had gone by without a single visit from him. The first one stung, leaving her with bruised feelings that were best shoved away during wine with friends. During the second, Iris exchanged disappointment for numbness; she lived on autopilot, convincing herself that she’d been wrong about everything from the start. The third felt like healing, old hurts scarring over with new responsibilities and challenges.

This was the challenge. This work was more important. _Focus,_ she reminded herself.

The Flash was great at saving the city from superhuman threats, but there were feats even _he_ couldn’t accomplish. He couldn’t save these people from their impending evictions, couldn’t stop these men from breaking up families all in the name of increasing their profit margins.

But she could.

Iris steeled herself. The most important thing now was to grab those documents. Recorded content was good, but physical papers with signatures would provide solid evidence that her editor couldn’t refuse. He’d have no choice but to let her run the story.

It was now or never.

“Evening gentlemen.”

Benjamin and Ryan both turned, startled, their angry eyes settling on her. She’d emerged from behind a patch of unfinished drywall, phone in hand, her eyes fierce. 

“Who the hell are you?” Benjamin asked. “How the hell’d she get in here?”

“My name is Iris West. I work for Central City Picture News, and everything, _everything_ you’ve talked about tonight has been recorded here.” She held up her phone. “I have enough incriminating evidence to provide the tenants you’ve evicted with real evidence for their lawsuit. So, it’s in your best interest to cooperate with me. Hand over the documents now.”

The two were stunned into silence at first, unbelieving. Then, they turned to one another and doubled over with laughter.

“Di-did you hear, Ryan?” Benjamin snorted. “Princess here is _threatening_ us. Holy shit. 

Iris sneered.

“I’m not threatening anybody _yet_." 

Ryan smirked. “As tempting as your offer is, I think we’ll pass.”

Iris went from staring at his malicious gaze to staring down the barrel of a pistol, gripped firmly in Ryan’s hand. Her heart stopped.

“Hand over your phone.”

Iris turned its screen toward them. “I have officers at CCPD on speed dial; all I have to do is press call, they’ll hear any gunfire, trace my signal, and arrest both of you.”

“Is _that_ right, Princess? Hey, Ryan?” Benjamin asked.

“Yeah?” Ryan glanced over as Ben pulled out his pistol, too. 

“What’d you think’s faster - putting a bullet through her head _before_ she can call the cops? Or her managing to call them first?”

“Dunno, man. Let’s find out.”

Iris didn’t have time to scream, she didn’t have time to _think_. Her body reacted instantly, flight instincts kicking in. She ducked, narrowly missing their gunfire, and managed to kick the table with their documents over and into them.

They faltered momentarily, giving her just enough time to run-crawl behind another piece of drywall. 

“Fuck! Where’d that bitch go?”

She heard their voices through muffled ringing; the sound of the gunshot reverberated through her skull, creating a painful echo that muted out the world.

_Crap_. Who knew they’d have guns!? Iris had been tailing them for the last week and a half. There hadn’t been so much as a metallic glint thrown her direction, much less any visible firearm. She needed to call her father, call _anyone_ at the station who might help, but there wasn’t enough time.

Gunshots continued to ring out, coupled with the sound of their quick approach. Iris took a breath, then sprinted again, ducking and dodging behind as many solid walls as she could find. But the closer she got to the windows, the less walls there were; only hanging plastic tarps that showcased her figure perfectly for their aim. 

She needed to find an exit quickly, but every twist or turn she made took her down another labyrinth of coordinators with no end, or toward unfinished stairwells incapable of bearing weight. Iris grew frantic; their shots were narrowly missing her, and both men had since split up to cover more ground. She knew one was still in hot pursuit, but had no way of knowing whether the other one was planning on cutting her off ahead.

She was catching her breath behind a construction container, trying to remain silent, when her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket. The number was unfamiliar; did she risk answering?

She clicked the phone on, held it to her ear; if nothing more, whoever was on the other line could hear what was happening, might hear the gunshots, might know _something_ had gone awry.

“Iris?”

The voice was warm, familiar, and tinged with fear; it made Iris’ stomach clench, sent dizzying anticipation spiraling through her.

The Flash had _called_ her.

“I need you listen to me carefully,” he said. “The only exit on that floor is too far for you to reach without hitting their fire again. You see the window to your left? I need you to jump.”

Wait, he’d called only to say _jump out of a freaking window_?

Footsteps sounded behind her; the men were approaching again, drawn by sound. Iris didn’t have time to think, only run. 

“I can’t, Flash! They’re coming!”

“Iris!” His voice was frantic now. “Do you trust me?”

She darted toward a wall facing that window; their fire missed badly, shattering the window instead; pebbles of glass sprayed around her. 

“Yes, I - I trust you.”

“Then jump." 

_Oh God._

Iris took a breath, heard the voices of Benjamin and Ryan closing in on her, their fire veering ever closer.

Then, she launched herself from the building with a scream.

* * *

Falling felt a lot like flying; this was the only coherent thought that reached Iris on her downward descent. Everything else was the howl of icy, rushing wind that stole her breath. Then, arms wrapped around her in the blink of an eye, and she hurtled even faster toward the ground.

The Flash had his arms tucked around her back and underneath her legs, creating a makeshift seat for her; they whizzed by dizzying streetlamps that stretched into electric blurs, until he sped them into her building and through her apartment door. He set her down gently there, and her breath hitched at the sight of him. 

He was completely unmasked, dark brown hair tousled and windswept, cheeks ruddy with exertion, eyes green and settled softly on her.

The man behind the mask was … _cute_. Damn cute.

“I counted two that you followed in,” he said. “Were there others??”

She paused momentarily, too stunned to speak. “No, just the two. But they have pistols!”

“Right.”

He pulled his hood on and zipped out of her apartment; about 10 seconds ticked away, and then he returned with his mask down and a large grin on his face. 

“Well, they’re taking a little nap now until CCPD arrives on the scene. We’re good!”

She hadn’t moved from her spot, rooted there with a swell of confusing emotions coursing through her.

How had he found her? How had he known she was in trouble, to begin with? 

And what the ever-loving _fuck_? He disappears for four weeks and then shows up _completely unmasked_ , all pretense of disguise gone. What was the radio silence for? 

Adrenaline. This article was going to be the _best fucking one yet_! She needed to get the story written tonight; by morning, other outlets would probably be all over it. And with any luck (and some serious sweet talking), Joe might even let her view documents procured from the scene.

“You probably have questions,” the Flash began. “Which - which is totally fair -”

“What are you even doing here?” She heard herself ask with more venom than she meant to. “Were you _following_ me?” 

“Iris, I -” He ducked his head, ashamed. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t mean to get in the way. It’s just, when those shots went off, I -" 

“Answer my question.”

His deep exhale was laden with sadness. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“ … since you started tailing them.” 

She gritted her teeth, tried to keep her voice measured. “And in all that time, you never thought to - I don’t know, _say_ something to me? Stop by? Wave from outside the window?”

“Iris -”

“Of course not. I was only good for patching up your wounds and feeding whatever superhero fantasies you had, right?” 

“Hey, that’s not fair, okay? You’re right, I should’ve come in, should’ve said something. But you were _never_ just -” 

“And now, this?! Showing up with your mask off? What was the point of cutting all the lights in my apartment and disguising your face if you were just going to show up like this anyway?”

He paused, swallowed a lump. “I didn’t want to come back until I was ready to show you the _real_ me. Not the Flash. Me. Barry Allen.” 

Barry Allen. The name wasn’t familiar to Iris, but the mere act of him sharing it forced her into silence. Names have power, and he’d chosen to bare himself to her, completely and utterly exposed in a way that no one had done for her before. 

“I thought I was beginning to know the real you.” Her voice was softer now, some of its edge crumbled. “That night, talking about our parents. It - it meant something to me, Barry.” 

His name on her tongue, _his_ name - not The Flash or some other moniker - sent chills through her. It felt like sliding into something familiar, like tasting home after years without a morsel. 

Barry approached then, inches separating them. “It meant everything to me, Iris. _Everything_. Why’d you think I couldn’t come back?” 

“I don’t know.” She was barely above a whisper now and close enough to count the freckles smattering his cheeks; how badly she wanted to touch them one by one, hearing his breath come faster underneath her warmth. The thought made her bite her lip, fight for control over her desire. “Why didn’t you?” 

Barry looked down at their hands; carefully, he removed his red leather gloves, and then found her eyes. 

“I didn’t know how to say it with my mask on, didn’t _want_ to say it as ‘The Flash’.” 

The words were a whisper against her, coated in the thickness of his feelings. Iris was overwhelmed, her anger quickly dissipating beneath the growing need to touch him. To _be_ touched by him. She hadn’t realized how much this was affecting her until her back hit a wall; they’d been slowly backing up together, their silence heavy with all the words they’d wanted to say to one another. 

“Iris,” he whispered again, but this time brought his hand to her cheek. The warmth from it, and the warmth coming from her, almost made their knees buckle. “Iris - please forgive me.” 

Her core pulsed with electric beats, all rushing downward between her legs in a delicious feeling of arousal. She turned into his touch, her lips grazing his palm, reveling in the act of giving in, of pressing into the desire that ebbed between them. Barry’s lips parted, face an agony of ecstasy that increased as she trailed her lips feather-light against the skin there; his thumb curled, roughly rubbed her bottom lip, exposing the pink warmth of her mouth. She moaned into his touch, causing his dick to throb in time with the breathy mewls she released against him. 

“I want you to know me, Iris. _Me_.” He practically hummed the words into her mouth, his lips were so close; each syllable tasted like a groan, like he was peeling away another layer just for her. “Please,” he begged. 

Her fingers crept into his hair, scraping gently. 

“Yes, Barry. Yes - ” 

When his lips touched hers, they stopped her words in their tracks. He teased her lightly, dusting them against her full ones, eliciting pants and soft exclamations that grew in intensity. 

And then his teeth grazed her bottom lip, a swell of pleasure and pressure.

They both moaned into one another’s mouths over the feeling, and Barry swallowed the sound with a kiss, slow and deep. Iris felt him wrap his other arm around her, hand creeping toward the swell of her ass, before gripping hard. The action made her moan against his lips, made her hitch her leg around his waist, center bucking into him.

“Oh God,” Barry whispered; his hard length had been straining through the suit, but feeling it press against her there was almost too much. “Iris -” 

He watched her watch him, watched her savor the sounds of groans that caught in his throat. She pressed herself against him in a delicious rhythm, prompting him to meet her hips with rough thrusts that made them both call one another’s names. 

He captured her mouth again, deepened their kiss, devoured her soft screams with his tongue. Their rhythm increased, both of his hands now palming her ass, grinding her in methodic circles that swirled the fabric over Iris’ clit in perfect waves of pleasure. She pulled away from him, overwhelmed by the sensation, scraped her fingernails through his hair more roughly. 

“Is this - _god, Iris_ ,” he breathed, “Is this - good? Am I - _ahh_ \- making you feel - g-good?” 

Iris keened a sexy _yess_ , rubbed herself faster against him in response, scraping at the leather of his suit as each pass of friction against her clitoris pulled her closer and closer to orgasm. Barry bit his lip, pushed into her harder with every thrust, shaking the paintings on her wall; his dick begged for release, warm precum staining the tip with every piston. 

“Barry, I’m going to-oh _god_.” Her breathing was uneven, too fast. 

With lightning quickness, Iris found herself being spun. He’d removed her pants and had moved them to her couch; she found herself straddling his lap, her back against his chest, bare legs splayed wide. But he’d taken care not to remove her panties, the black lacy fabric still clinging to her sopping mound. 

_Holy shit_. Blood rushed to her cheeks; this man was fast _and_ precise. She’d barely registered what was happening. 

“You were saying?” His voice was warm against her ear, teeth scraping the lobe. 

How often had she fantasized about this? More than she cared to admit. But even in her wildest dreams, she never imagined that it could feel _this_ good. One of Barry’s hands had found its way under her shirt, his fingers softly kneading and pinching around a hard nipple; she arched into the feeling, felt her nipple grow even harder after each pass of his rough digits. His other disappeared beneath her underwear, middle finger sliding methodically down the slit in a teasing motion. 

Iris practically screamed. 

“Barry, oh God. More, _more_.” 

A little laugh met her ear; he was enjoying this far too much, but his own straining erection was still hard against her ass. He thrust his hips against her to relieve the pressure, soft little groans escaping as her round ass rubbed the head again and again, bit her earlobe a little harder while uttering her name like a prayer. 

“Anything for you, Iris.” 

The rough pad of his thumb found her clit, began to rub quick, jerky circles around it, while the fingers on her nipple increased in pressure, twisting and flicking the sensitive nub in time to the rhythm he was picking up below. Iris’ breathing hitched as she moaned and pleaded and rubbed herself into his fingers, losing herself in the sound and sight of his fingers sliding against the slickness wetness. It was so … _raw_ , the sound of her breath being caught on a moan, the sound of his labored rubbing sexily down below, the sound of her crying out into the silence between jagged moans - of her kneading her other nipple alongside his rough rubs and flicks. 

But what Iris _thought_ was fast wasn’t even; he was, after all, capable of vibrating his _entire fucking body_ , after all. She felt his thumb increase in speed, vibrating soundlessly against her throbbing clit, sending electric jolts that reverberated throughout her. Iris began to screaming then, letting loose an unintelligible string of expletives and words that made no sense, that was a language made entirely of Barry’s devotion to her body in that moment. He grunted against her neck, nipped the skin there, goaded her on with words of encouragement - begged her to come hard around him. 

Having her legs splayed was nice, but the pressure always increased when Iris closed them; she brought her thighs together, causing the vibration to completely focus on her clit while she ground into the feeling, so _close_ to her release. Barry moaned too, coaxed her hips to move faster around his hand, made her ride his fingers as though they were his dick; the sight of her unraveling around them made him _wish_ it was his cock instead. 

“ _Barry!_ ” 

Iris came hard, screaming and crying in pure ecstasy that almost pushed Barry over the edge; he moaned while she moaned, delighting in the pleasure it brought. He made her ride her orgasm out until the nub grew sensitive, until she had to push his hands from her, until she was panting, on her knees, on the floor, praying to whatever Speed Force deity made it so that Barry fucking Allen could do _that_ to any other human being, let alone _her_! 

“Holy … shit …,” she laugh-whispered, still twitching from the aftershocks, her breath a tangled mess. “How … did … you … oh my _god_ , _how_?!” 

When she turned, Barry’s face was lit with a kind of hungry desire, a need so deep that Iris couldn’t put into words. She licked her lips softly, saw his hard length practically bulging out of the leather suit. 

“We should take this off, yeah?” She asked innocently. Barry nodded enthusiastically; he still couldn’t form words, not after seeing the vision that was Iris West coming completely undone around him. But he did have enough wherewithal to speedily undress himself. 

The broad expanse of his chest made her weak in the knees (weaker than she already was); he was all lean muscle and soft skin, freckles dotting his abs here and there. She smiled and removed her own shirt and bra (no need for _those_ anymore!) before slowly, agonizingly, sliding his boxers down. 

Barry let out a small groan when his dick sprung free; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anyone so badly. Iris returned his hungry gaze, then brought her lips to the base of him. He felt her kiss the skin lightly, then ever so softly trail her tongue from base to head. 

“Iris, - holy _shit_ -” 

He couldn’t get out words before she took the tip between her mouth with a greedy moan, her eyes on him the entire time.

“Stop.” He pushed her away gently, steadied his breathing. “I’ve only got another good three seconds in me if you keep doing that.” 

She smiled softly. “I don’t mind.” 

Her sweet sincerity brought an embarrassed flush up his neck. “Iris, I - I need you to know that I didn’t think this, that we - I wasn’t planning this, I swear.” 

She scrunched her nose. “Well, _that’s_ impressive. Because what you just did to me? With no prep or planning required? Talk about raw talent.” Her teasing made them both giggle, made Barry relax a little. “Follow me, okay?” 

Iris led him to her bedroom, fished through her dresser for a condom, and handed him the foil packet. His goofy smile brought on another fit of giggles, and she crawled onto the bed while he rolled the latex down his length. 

“So how many times did you imagine _this_ with me, hm?” She asked teasingly. 

Barry crawled between her legs, his length coming to rest between her center; her laughter gave way to a soft moan, their bodies pressing into one another again. 

“Too many,” he growled low. “Way too many.” 

She brought his lips down on hers again, tasted his tongue, felt his hand dip between her legs to lightly rub her through wet folds. She arched into his touch; soon, the two of them were panting and moaning into one another again. 

“Barry, I need you inside me,” Iris begged. 

He bent gently, tongue lapping softly at one brown nipple, worried it slightly with his teeth. Then slowly, gently, he maneuvered himself toward her entrance. Iris widened her legs to give him a better view; he paused, bent to kiss her softly, and with the help of her hand guiding his, slid the full length of himself in one slow, agonizingly delicious stroke. 

Barry groaned against the feeling of her surrounding him, wet and warm and snug; he measured his breaths, hovered there for a moment savoring the feel of her, and then slid himself all the way out again. Iris had her fingers curled into his hair again, raising herself slightly to meet his every thrust. 

He made love to her gently, patiently; let her adjust to the feeling of him filling her, let her soft moans lull him into a sweet motion that had him hitting that spot within her on every deep grind. Iris felt her heart swell, felt like she couldn’t breathe with him filling her so; this was new. Unlike anything she’d ever felt before. 

But the snug fit of her around him was far too much; it begged him to move faster, to _fuck_ her until she came for im again. Barry increased his pace, unable to control himself; the sound of their bodies slapping against one another, of his own moans emanating after every deep thrust, sent chills down his spine. He watched her palm her breasts between her fingers, watched her arched into that touch, and it drove him further over the edge. He could feel his own orgasm building as her snugness coaxed it forward. 

But before their pace could finish him, Iris gently rolled them over. When she climbed atop him, hovered over his throbbing length, the sight of her almost did the deed. She bit her lip again, found his eyes, and held his gaze while she sank down onto every inch of him slowly. 

“Oh _fuck, Iris_ ,” he groaned, watching himself slide in and out of her. 

Iris was completely slick, her bouncing motion eliciting jagged moans that made him even harder. He pressed up to meet her thrusts, hands dragging her hips harder, fucking up into her at an angle that made them both shiver. She bent over, her teeth finding his neck, his hands now squeezing her ass, fucking her in earnest with slick strides; Barry could tell she was close, his own nearness blinding him with lust. 

“Come with me,” he whispered harshly, bucking his hips until she screamed. “Come, Iris.” 

Iris cried out, her orgasm almost there; he reached a hand between them, vibrating his fingers on top of her mound, the feeling reverberating through them both. 

When Barry tumbled over that white hot expanse, he cried out, the feeling of her coming around him too much as she rode out the feeling against him. Sweat stained them both, hot panting breaths on moist skin the only thing they could muster for a time. Then Iris brought her lips onto his, tongue probing languidly, his arms crushing her to him. 

“Well … _that’s_ one way to make up for lost time,” Iris giggled. “All I wanted was dinner.” 

Barry smiled tiredly. “We can still make that happen.” 

Before she could say another word, Barry sped them toward the kitchen; somehow, he’d slipped a hoodie over her, and must’ve bought himself a change of clothes because he was wearing simple sweats and a Star Labs t-shirt. 

She looked around - he’d already begun digging out pots and pans, and was raiding her cabinets for ingredients. 

“Star Labs - is that where you work when you’re not being a superhero?” 

Barry turned, smirked. “Yeah, sorta. The lab isn’t really operational anymore, but it’s where I spend most of my time. It’s kinda like a base of operations now.” 

Iris nodded, putting the pieces together. “It closed down when the particle accelerator exploded. Woah, wait - Barry, is that how you got your powers?” 

The glint in his eye was telling, but he simply poured her a glass of wine and began preparing dinner. 

“I can tell you the full story, if you like.” 

Iris smiled, waltzed over to him, and wrapped her arms around from behind. “Start from the _very_ beginning, please. There’s so much I want to know.” 

He turned, stopped mid food prep, and kissed her gently. “And there’s so much I can’t wait to tell you.”


End file.
